Carry That Weight
by RedDahlias
Summary: She wasn't troubled, she wasn't some sort of enchanting delicate flower that could have any man she wanted. She was just lucky enough to be friends with Paul when they were in high school together. It had its perks. All she needed to do was distance herself as she struggled to carry all the weight she placed upon herself. She didn't realize that she needed a little help though.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The night carried on, silent and calm, the only noise in the London flat came from the slow melodious tempo of a Bing Crosby record. She was fond of soft contemporary music, judging from her collection of records that she brought with her when she moved into their flat. Ringo was kicked out of his room to accommodate her, resulting in sharing a room with George. Both men did not protest, she was a lady after all, and living in a male dominated flat, she needed her space.

"Martha? Can I come in?"

"Sure Paul."

Paul stepped into the pert room. The previously white walls were now painted pale green and the shag carpet was replaced with dark hardwood floor. Paul liked it, it was tidier. Martha was sitting on a plush armchair in the corner of the room, her long legs crossed and her gaze fixated on the book she had in hand. He didn't bother to read the title of the novel, but he was surprised a book held her undivided attention.

"Mar-ta." He sang out, plopping himself on her full sized bed that was placed against the center of the wall. He sat facing her, his black slacks making a swishing noise against the polyester material of her bedspread.

She held up a finger indicating that she was about to look up, and after dog earing the page she stopped at, she looked up.

"What is it, Paul?" she asked breathily, propping her elbow upon the plush armrest, her cheek resting upon her hand. She had a bored expression on her face, something that Paul wasn't used to when talking to the birds.

"Well, John and I were going to go to the pub and grab a drink or two, and George is with Maureen and Ringo's out doing who knows what…"

He trailed off by pursing his lips together, and looking up at her with his large sullen looking eyes, the hazel colored eyes that many of the fan girls went mad over.

"What I'm trying to say is, you haven't really come out of your room since you moved in here, and well, love, we're worried about you."

Martha shifted from her laid back position on the armchair to a more reserved one, somewhat indignant.

"Paul, I moved in here because you were the only one willing to give me a place to stay. I told you, once I find a job I'll be out of your hair."

She let out a faint little huff and ran a hand through her unruly dark brown hair. Upon seeing Paul's scowl, she closed her eyes and exhaled again for a brief second getting up and sitting next to him on the bed. She placed her hand on his arm and rubbed invisible little circles on it with her thumb.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just… stressed out is all, and I think it's best if I stay in here. Thank you though, I really appreciate it."

She gave him a quick chaste peck on the cheek and stood up, and he took that as a sign to leave. He made his way to the door, but before making a full exit, he leaned against the frame in a comically seductive pose, as he stared at her with exaggerated bedroom eyes.

"Honestly, you need to come out sometime, and when you do, I'll be waiting. Take care, love." He said, wiggling his eyebrows and turning to leave. Martha laughed and threw a pillow at his back, and once she was sure he was gone, she went to retrieve it. She leaned her back against the door, closing it. A sigh evoked from her lips, and she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I need to find a job fast." She mused, closing her eyes as she heard Bing drawl out the last lovely note on the record and the click of the needle hitting the final groove.

"Any luck?" John asked as Paul got into the passenger seat of the Pontiac. The car was imported and John still had a bit of trouble driving from the left side, but Paul could care less about that, he was more focused on the fact that Martha was so reserved. Most birds he'd meet would throw themselves at him the minute he gave them his little flirtatious smile.

"None so far. She's too stubborn."

"What a weird bird. Tch, she should be grateful that we even invited her." John growled under his breath, irked at the fact that she had immediately declined their invitation to go drink.

Paul supposed Martha was more wrapped up in her own life to even bother with him, him! Paul McCartney, second in command of aspiring boy band, the Beatles. It still miffed him, the fact that he wasn't able to coax him out of her room. If anything, leaving it would reduce the stress she had. He did get a kiss for his efforts though, but it was on the cheek and he figured it was to get him to stop pestering her.

It had only been a few days she had been living with them, and her quiet and mysterious personality drew both Paul and John in. Even more so when they both saw her interact with George and Ringo more, though she never really revealed more to them than what she planned on doing after she moved out. Get a job and find her own place to live in, was what she wanted. It infuriated John when he couldn't get the same reaction out of her as he could the other girls he'd talk to. She'd just stare up at him with those large almond shaped eyes of hers and give him a straight reply. He sought her as nothing special, but he was determined to figure her out.

"Martha, we're home!" Paul sang out, bursting through the door. They both entered the moderate sized living room, their intoxicated state causing them to trip over random pieces of furniture. Paul almost tripped over the coffee table, and had to steady himself by grabbing the wall closest to him. John was in tow, a hiccup escaping his lips every now and then. He made a beeline for the living room couch where he proceeded to collapse upon it.

"Macca, when- when we gonna go out to the pub again?" He slurred, his hands fumbling to grab onto one of the cushions to prop himself up.

Paul shushed him, his eyebrows furrowed. He narrowed his eyes and stared in the direction of Martha's room.

"You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly! Martha isn't even coming out to greet us."

"You dunce, she never does. 'Cept if we force her to."

"But it's quitter than usual. Come on let's have a look, shall we?"

Paul stumbled into the hallway to Martha's bedroom door and gestured for John to follow suit. John rolled his eyes but obliged. Paul pressed his ear against the door and listened. Suddenly, the door flung open, revealing an angry looking Martha in pale green plaid pajamas.

"What on the hell are you doing?" She snapped, placing a hand on each side of the doorframe, as if to block both Paul and John from entering her room.

"Ah, ah, ah, such language for a lady," John scolded mockingly, "besides, how'd you know we were here?"

"I could hear your damn footsteps; you two were stomping around like bloody lummoxes!"

John hiccupped and looked at Paul who in return looked at him; both men remained quiet for a minute before bursting into a fit of giggles. Martha stared at the two mop topped men and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, and while you were gone someone named Brian called. Said something along the lines of you two, along with George and Richie being in 'deep shit.' If I were you, I'd call back and see what was up with that."

She smirked as she heard their laughter stop abruptly, their eyes widening in realization that they failed to deliver the demo of their newest song to their manager that day. Paul's mouth made a little 'o' and John let out quiet string of curses.

"Well, it's almost ten. And usually, most people go to sleep at this time. Good night boys."

Martha made to close the door, but John placed his foot against the doorframe, stopping her from doing so.

"You know Martha, before I go to sleep, I just wanted to tell you, you're a real prude."

Martha gasped at the insult and made to close the door again, but he kept his foot there.

"Shut up John. Good night!" She said indignantly, slamming the door upon his foot multiple times. Despite the pain, he did not budge.

"Martha the Prude. Actually, that's too long. Prudence. There we go… Prudence! Pru-dence!" He sang the last bit, a tight smile gracing his face as she continued slamming the door on his foot, he silently thanked God for his thick dress shoes.

"I said shut it Lennon! Go to sleep, dammit!" She hollered, finally resorting to pushing him, causing him to topple over Paul, who merely observed the scene before him with great amusement. Once those two were both out the way, she slammed the door shut. She huffed at John's audacity, which showed even more so when he was intoxicated, and collapsed on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm not a prude. What a horrid name… Prudence."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Martha wasn't a morning person, so when John knocked on her door like the constable trying to corner a perpetrator, she didn't even stir.

"Martha, wake up dammit, we're going to be out for a while, and there's no way we're leaving you alone the whole day."

John's words were drowned out though; Martha was feigning sleep to get him off her back. It wasn't until he started banging on the door like a madman that she actually got up. She flung the covers off her body and didn't even bother to put on her robe; she opened the door in the middle of John's banging and shouting.

"Mar- oh, you're up. Put on some clothes. We're going to be out for the day." He chided lazily, almost nonchalantly.

Martha was red in the face, she pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows in aggravation. She wouldn't dare allow any of these men to look at her before she put her face on, for fear of being childishly mocked and teased, but John had tugged too hard on the rope. She opened her mouth to say something to the smirking John Lennon, but no words came out. She cleared her mind and finally composed herself.

"I'm not going, I'm going to read the want ads." She said coolly, turning around to shut the door on John.

She couldn't though; John's arm shot out like a whip and grabbed her wrist. She struggled and complained that he was hurting her, but he paid no mind to that, he was obviously stronger than her, it was pointless fighting back.

"You're going to search the want ads the whole day? I fucking doubt that, Martha! You haven't been out of your room since Richie moved the last of his stuff to George's room," he hissed through gritted teeth, "You've been playing the damn introvert since you got here, and quite frankly, we're all sick of it."

Martha was speechless, for a second, that is. When he loosened his grip on her wrist, she pulled away.

"What gives you the damn right to call me out on how I live my life? If I want to stay in my room then by God, I'll do it! It's seven in the fucking morning, and I'm going back to sleep!"

She didn't care if the language she used was unladylike, that John Lennon was a pain in the neck the moment she first stepped through the front door. She didn't care if she left John baffled at the frame of her door; she was tired of this cocky man's brash demeanor. She slammed the door and hopped back into her untidy bed. She rolled into the covers and closed her eyes, finally able to sleep again blissfully. It only lasted a moment, because John came barging through the door, with George and Ringo trying to restrain him from doing anything rash. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting to lock the door.

"We're the ones that let you stay in this room and dammit, we can easily kick you out of it!" John threatened, trying to pry off George, who was grabbing him by the shoulders, and trying to kick off Ringo, who was reduced to grabbing onto his leg like a child. Martha shot up out of bed and grabbed her bulky jewelry box off her vanity table, it had almost nothing in it, and she merely kept it because she was so fond of the design, but she was ready to hit John upside the head with it if he dared ventured near her.

"Calm down John! You're just miffed that she stood up to you." George pointed out.

"Yeah, calm down John, she's just a little bird, she didn't do any harm." Ringo piped up, still grabbing onto John's calf.

John shook him off and turned to George. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"See to it that she gets dressed? Okay?" He ordered, a forced smile plastered on his features.

He stormed out of the room and left to go smoke a cigarette outside, not giving a damn if it was seven-twenty in the morning. Martha placed her jewelry box back on the vanity table and huffed, rubbing her wrist. It didn't really hurt, but knowing that damn Lennon grabbed it made her want to soak it in acid. She looked up at the two men who awkwardly stood in her room, usually she got along swimmingly with these two, but after John's little rampage, they didn't really know how to talk and make amends.

"Martha, I suggest you get dressed, don't want another episode like this again. I'm sorry he acted like that- you know how his temper flairs though when he doesn't get his way. He can be a total bugger with the way he approaches situations, he means well though…"

George trailed off, knowing well that saving John's skin from Martha's effeminate wrath was pointless. He looked at the miffed bird, studying her. Her normally unruly hair was even unrulier, sticking out in all directions in messy waves and curls, she had dark circles underneath her eyes from being woken up before her usual time, and she still had a bit of rheum at the inner corners of her eyes. He shrugged it off, knowing she'd look herself again in about half an hour.

"We'll be waiting for you in the parlor, okay? Take it easy, dear. John's all talk and no walk." Ringo smiled sweetly, causing her to smile back. Out of all of them, he was the sweetest.

"We need to be out the door by eight though, just reminding you!" George piped up before he and Ringo exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Martha exhaled, if it wasn't for the sensible George Harrison and the sweet, mild-mannered Ringo Starr, she wouldn't be able to survive in the flat; she'd probably skin both John and Paul alive. She walked over to her wardrobe and began to rummage through her clothes; she was thankful she didn't grow a lot throughout her teenage years; she was still able to keep clothing she bought years before. Needless to say, she did enjoy a nice shopping trip when she had the money to spare, which in truth, hadn't happened in a while. She looked out the window to check on the weather: cold, dark, and dreary. She sighed and turned back to her wardrobe to settle on a pair of thick, wool leggings and a forest green, ribbed sweater. After putting on her black Chelsea boots, brushing her unruly hair to make it as presentable as possible, and performing her morning routine in the bathroom, she was ready to go.

"Took you long enough." John mumbled as Martha stepped into the living room. She would have given a retort, but George stepped in.

"Oh, shut up John, we're still waiting for Paul. He got up earlier than the rest of us and he still hasn't finished getting ready." George quipped, leaning back against the couch's headboard and crossing his arms.

Martha sat next to Ringo and sighed, glaring daggers at John, who in turn glared back at her. 'I'm watching you' he mouthed, and she gave him the finger when George and Ringo weren't looking. John was the only man she ever met that she sought okay to put aside all effeminate expectations of a lady. Their staring contest was cut short when Paul walked into the room, looking as dashing as ever. His mop top was combed immaculately and his Cuban boots were polished, the casual suit he wore was ironed neatly, and after giving the boys and Martha a lazy grin, he was ready to go.

"Ah, I see you got the little bird to venture out of the nest. Is that what all the commotion was about Johnny?" Paul grinned, leaning against the arm of the couch.

John turned to Paul and pursed his lips, then looked away childishly, crossing his arms. Martha grinned at the sight and when John noticed, she stuck her tongue out at him, much to his irritation.

"Alright, we've got to get going lads, Brian's going to have a fit if we don't show up on time," George reminded them, getting up and stretching, making his way out the front door, "And John, quit glaring at Martha, you just got what was coming to you." He added without even looking back at the two, who sure enough were glaring at each other.

Paul chuckled and followed George; Ringo gave both clashing brunettes a weary last glance before following Paul out the door. Once Martha made sure all three men were out the door, she turned to John.

"Listen here, you bird nosed bugger, you need to learn to control your temper, otherwise I'll stop trying to control my own, and that won't be pretty." She threatened, her eyebrows furrowing in aggravation.

"Hey, I'm already looking at something that's not pretty, spare me that, love." He quipped, smirking at her indignant expression.

She evoked a little growl and sprung up from the couch, storming out the front door. John chuckled, he had won that battle; but Martha was going to make sure she won the war he had waged upon her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Martha sat in by the window, with Ringo in the middle and John taking the other window seat. George was in the passenger seat, knowing well that sitting between the two feuding brunettes was a bad idea. Paul took the driver's seat and gave a weary glance at the three in the back before driving off to the studio. Martha was still tired, seeing as though she did not receive what she deemed enough sleep, so she boldly leaned her head on Ringo's shoulder and closed her eyes. This was a shock to said Beatle; Martha usually kept her distance from everyone despite getting along with him and George the most.

"Sorry Ritchie, but I've got to sleep some more. Don't want to end up taking my moodiness out on you, especially when it should be taken out on him." She apologized lazily, referring to John, her eyes still closed as she tried to go to sleep.

"It's okay, go ahead. I don't mind at all." Ringo smiled, and stuck his tongue out at Paul who glanced at them from the rearview mirror.

Paul grunted and kept his eyes locked on the road. John glanced occasionally at the two sitting beside him and kept asking Paul if they were close at all to the studio, finally Paul pressed on the breaks, irritated.

"Yes John! For the hundredth time, we're here!" Paul exclaimed, exasperated.

"Okay!" John smiled cheekily making an "OK" sign with his fingers as he exited the car.

"Be careful waking her up Ritchie." George warned before exiting the car as well.

"Martha… wake up we're here. Martha?" Ringo shook her gently, coaxing her to wake up, mainly for his own safety; he wouldn't want to have her yell at him as she did to John.

She opened her eyes and stretched, it wasn't that long of a drive, but her neck hurt from leaning against Ringo. She got out of the car with him and followed suit into the building. Before they made their way into the recording studio, they turned to her and gave her 'the talk.'

"Absolutely no touching anything that looks breakable or expensive." George chided.

"Don't make any noise when we're recording, you could end up on one of the records." Ringo quipped.

"Don't cause any trouble." Paul simply instructed.

The three of them turned to John to see if he had anything to say. He was looking around, hands in his pockets. He felt them staring at him and turned to them, nonchalant.

"What?" He asked.

"Say something." Paul urged, gesturing to Martha, who looked indignant.

"Oh right. Don't do anything stupid, don't touch or break anything, etcetera, etcetera." John educed half-heartedly, lolling his head from side to side to show how uninterested he was.

He motioned for the boys to follow him into the recording studio after his little spiel, leaving Martha to entertain herself for the next few hours. She pouted, frustrated that she was left and treated like a child. She walked into an empty room and sighed, deciding to look around and see if she could find anything to entertain herself. She noticed there was a record player and a large stack of records, maybe from bands that recorded in the studio. She looked around and decided that the room she was in might have been a break room, judging from the fridge and casual looking couches and recliner. She closed the door to reduce the noise level of the records and went to look through the stack. She finally settled on one of Gene Pitney's singles, Town Without Pity, remembering how she went to see the film a few years back. She liked the song for the rhythm and lyrics, especially Pitney's crooner style voice. She placed the record onto the tray and placed the needle on it, nodding her head to the opening beat.

"When you're young and so in love as we! And bewildered by the world we see!" She sang along, swaying her hips provocatively, dancing to the music.

"Why do people hurt us so, only those in love would know, what a town without pity can do!"

She strutted around the room, never once glancing at the door. Swishing her hips and performing the most burlesque, coquettish routine she had ever performed, she sang along to Pitney's melancholic song. She sashayed to the fridge and opened it, putting on a little show as she still sang along, swaying her hips and stooping down to check what she could use to make herself a quick breakfast. She pulled out an apple and bit into it, pivoting and closing the fridge's door with the heel of her boot.

"The young have problems, many problems, we need an understanding heart! Why don't they help us, try and help us, before this clay and granite planet falls apart!" She sang passionately, uttering her favorite verse of the song with gusto.

"Take these eager lips and hold me fast, I'm afraid this kind of joy can't last! How can we keep love alive? How can anything survive? When these little minds tear you in two, what a town without pity can do!" A voice broke out, masculine and raspy.

Martha froze and turned to the door. She remembered to close it, but not lock it. John was behind her, dancing along to the music.

"Now it isn't very pretty, what a town without pity, can… Doooooo!" He finished, running a short distance and falling on his knees, sliding to Martha. He finished his routine by looking up, a dramatic expression contorting his features and his arms spread.

Martha awkwardly stood there, staring down at John, who was still posing, panting exaggeratedly, then she noticed Paul leaning against the doorway, smirking. She rubbed her arm sheepishly, trying to form a coherent explanation.

"How long were you guys there for?" She asked nervously.

"Oh, we walked in when you started strutting around the room like a showgirl. Had to get some notes to give to Brain, left them on the coffee table." Paul explained, sauntering over to the coffee table she had danced around mere minutes ago.

She gripped the apple she had in hand, bruising it a little.

"Well… don't tell anyone, please?" She pleaded, "Please don't tell George and Ritchie."

John got up and dusted himself off.

"Don't have to! The security camera's will!"

Author's Note: Yeah, it's a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it. I'm still toying with the plot, and I'd appreciate reviews. Until next chapter! Thanks you for taking the time to read this story!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The car ride back to the flat was awkward and hectic, to put it in simple terms. Both Paul and John insisted that Ringo drive while they sat in the back with Martha, obviously to make fun of her.

"Hey, John?" Paul nudged him, grabbing his attention.

"Yeah?" He answered, turning away from Martha, who was busy engaging in a staring contest with him, for intimidation purposes.

"Who am I?" He asked, before proceeding to place one hand on his hip and one at the nape of his neck, winking at John, attempting to be seductive.

John let out a hearty laugh upon realizing that Paul was mocking Martha's little burlesque routine, and joined it. Both started singing Town without Pity, mocking Martha's effeminate falsetto voice, making sure to do so as obnoxiously as possible. She sighed and look away from them, pretending to be preoccupied in the scenery that flashed by. She peered at George and Ringo from the corner of her eye and noticed that they seemed lost with the inside joke Paul and John were laughing about.

Ringo spoke up first, not really getting it. "What's so funny?"

George nodded, wondering what was going on as well. John stopped the mockery and explained what Martha was doing, exaggeratedly and animatedly. The entire time Martha listened intently, ready to strike if he went too far with his colorful explanation.

"I swear, it looked like she was this close to taking her top off," John remarked, holding both hands a mere inch away from each other to indicate how 'close' she was to doing so, "she looked like a natural show-"

"That's it!" Martha shouted, unbuckling her seatbelt, "George, stop the car!"

George swerved then slammed on the breaks, pulling over on a curb, the sudden order she had given him startling him. Martha, while he did that, took no time in throwing girlish punches and slaps at John, who didn't mind at first, until she kept hitting the same spot repeatedly. Throughout this, she repeatedly cursed and yelled out lewd insults at him. She tackled him, surprising both him and Paul as the latter of the two was now pushed up against the car's window. All John did was block and defend himself, somewhat amused that she had finally snapped.

"Dammit Lennon, you really don't know when to call it quits, now do you?" Martha hollered, resorting to strangling him when she realized her punches didn't have any effect on him.

Ringo looked back and stifled a laugh as John panted for air; her hands were somewhat small, but she knew where to apply the pressure. Paul was still pressed against the window, trying to wiggle out of confinement, but decided against opening the car door that would most likely result in him being hit by a passing car. George sighed and crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back against the driver's seat, waiting for Martha to finish her little tantrum of retaliation.

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" John offered, gagging and coughing when she proved to be resilient.

"Sorry ain't going to cut it, you vulgar little jackoff!" All ladylike mannerisms and vocabulary had been abandoned; this young woman had had enough, evoking a laugh from both George and Ringo. John gripped her wrists to pry her off, but the uncomfortable feeling he had from her grabbing his neck made him pull back as he desperately tried to find a way to get her off him. Finally, he resorted to reaching down and groping her bottom, to that which she let out a squeak and let go of his throat to slap him. He was okay with that, relieved that he was no longer being emasculated by a woman, despite now having a red mark on his cheek. He quickly sat up, allowing Paul to do so as well, to which both men sighed gratefully. Martha huffed and opened the car door, stepping out ungracefully onto the sidewalk and slamming it behind her. She glared at the pedestrians that had stopped to look at five peculiar youths, making them walk away to continue their business, both frightened and nonchalant. She continued walking down the sidewalk, not really knowing or caring where she was headed.

"Where you off to?" Ringo called after her, sticking his head out the window.

"I need some fresh air." She simply replied over her shoulder, continuing to saunter off.

Ringo retreated back into the car, looking like an angry child. He pouted then looked back at John.

"Well, now you've done it. I've got to say though, she's got plenty of patience. Didn't think she'd snap like that though."

Both George and Paul agreed, and the latter of the two asked if they should go after her.

"Why bother, she'll only assault me again!" John cried out, rubbing his neck.

George rolled his eyes and commenced in driving after her, knowing well that she didn't know this area of the city. She didn't get very far, but she wouldn't even look at them as George drifted beside her, glancing every so often away from her as he checked to see if any other cars were around. Ringo poked his head out the window and pleaded for Martha to get back in the car with them, even apologizing on John's behalf.

She stopped walking abruptly, and George had to make sure there were no cars before slamming on the brakes. "No way, I have to hear it from him, Ritchie." She tsked, crossing her arms, an expectant look on her face.

Ringo sighed, then looked back at said Beatle, who was sitting stiffly, arms crossed in retaliation. His face held a look of childish rebelliousness, and when Ringo glared at him, he finally spoke up.

"No way, I ain't going to do it fellas." He exclaimed with a flourish of both his hands.

"Come on, John, dammit, just apologize and we can go back home!" Paul butt in, now annoyed with how unnecessary all the quarreling was.

John still stayed resilient, much to the rest of the boys' chagrin. Ringo had enough, as did George, who was slow to anger. Both boys turned to John and began to beat him, Ringo leaning over the passenger seat as much as he could to hit him better. Paul just watched the entire scene unfold with a smirk on his face, as did Martha. By the end of it all, John had a disheveled look and was spewing out apologies like a pipe that sprung a leak.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" Martha chided, stepping into the car with pep in her step.

The boys watched her in wonder; she had shown more emotion in one day than the past couple weeks she had been living with them. Once she was back to her reserved self, they quickly lost interest and began giving John a hard time. He stayed quiet the entire ride home though; he was too busy trying to figure out how the girl sitting next to him worked.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Finally." Martha breathed out, bursting through the door and making a bee line for her room.

The four boys trailed behind her, plopping themselves on the living room couch, tired from the strenuous recording session and the absolute crap John had gotten them all into with that big mouth of his.

"What the hell?" They heard Martha curse, "I can't open the door."

She was trying to twist the knob, but it wouldn't turn, much to her chagrin. She turned to the boys and gave them an accusing glare. Paul, George and Ringo all looked back at her and gave her genuine confused looks, shrugging.

"Maybe it's jammed. I'll fix it, just give me some time to rest." George offered, leaning back against the couch, sighing.

Martha stayed where she was by her bedroom door, looking at John from the hallway.

"Do you know anything about this?"

John feigned turning away from something he was paying attention to and gave her a saccharine reply.

"Why no, I don't. Maybe it's just like Georgie said, could be jammed."

He scooted over on the couch, despite there being enough room for her already and extended his arm to pat a spot on it for her.

"Come, sit with us Martha, give us time to rest and we'll fix the knob for you."

She pursed her lips, but complied anyways. She sat down next to him gingerly, somewhat suspicious that he was being so good-natured.

"So Martha, what's it like being outside your domain?" Ringo teased, giving her a warm smile, glad to see she was out of her bedroom.

She chuckled, but didn't say anything. She just wanted the boys to rest a bit to fix her door knob. She was growing impatient. It was awkward, just sitting there, so she decided to make some small talk.

"So, how was the recording session?"

"It was good, we got some songs finished. We'll be performing some of them live when we go on tour. As a way for fans to buy the new records." Paul evoked lazily.

She nodded and kept quiet afterwards. John noticed this, and tried striking up a conversation about things he wanted to eat. Ringo eager to chat about something other than music, joined in. George also joined in mainly for the sake of talking about food, while Paul only nodded in acknowledgement every now and then; out of all of them, he seemed the most tired.

"What about you, what's something you're craving?" George asked earnestly, casting his gaze at Martha, "I could really go for some tuna sandwiches right now."

"I'd really like some American hard gums… what do they call them? Oh, gumdrops!" She quipped, "I haven't had those since… well, I don't know."

"You actually like those?" John grimaced, wrinkling like nose.

"Well, yeah. I used to get those with my dad when I was little, he'd always give me the green ones and he'd take the red ones, and we'd always give the excess colors to my neighbor, Charles, who was just happy to eat something sweet because his parents never really allowed him-"

She trailed off when she realized she was rambling on about her background, causing the boys to listen intently, with the exception of Paul who had finally given in and fell asleep on the couch.

"Why'd you stop?" Ringo inquired, giving a little frown.

She shrugged and finished abruptly.

"His parents never allowed him to eat any sweets, that's it." The warm tone she had begun with was gone and replaced with a monotonous one.

"I see," George mused, "What else are you craving?"

And so, they continued their conversation about food, John exaggeratingly explaining how delicious Turkish delight was, throwing in a few vulgar analogies here and there, George keeping quiet and nodding, only speaking when he sought necessary. Ringo just had a blissful look on his face as the rest described the food they wanted, and he got up and made his way into the kitchen.

The three continued to talk and chat, and Martha finally found herself engaged in the conversation. She didn't realize it, but these boys were fun to be around; she completely forgot about wanting to have her door knob fixed. Ringo came back with a full stomach and a satisfied look on his face, and no one questioned him. As it grew later, George found himself yawning, sleep overtaking him. He looked over at Paul, who was still asleep and decided that he too, wanted to turn in for the night.

"It's getting late. I best be heading to bed. Good night Martha, Ritchie, John." He bid each goodnight and headed to his room.

John still wasn't tired, but when he saw Martha evoke an effeminate yawn, he realized he'd be pushing his luck if he tried to carry on a conversation with her.

"Here, I'll fix the knob for you." He offered, getting up and strolling to her door.

She watched him, expecting him to just hit it or twist it until it turned again, but he simply took a key out from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. He smiled cheekily at her as he opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

"I fixed it madam!" He cheered, before strolling to his room, "It was nice talking to you."

She had so many questions, but she figured he took the only copy of her bedroom key from the drawer in her vanity table when she left the house that morning. She sighed, it was all a ploy to get her to venture out the room and interact with everyone. She wasn't entirely angry, but she was certainly annoyed. She slammed the door behind her and huffed. She needed to find a job fast, unless she liked being teased and taunted by John, he certainly was charming, in a morbid way, not to mention pretty good looking in a conspicuous sense- No! She was not developing and sort of attachment or feeling for this, immature, cocky, crude jerk! She shook her head in reassurance and proceeded to go to bed in an angry stupor.

Author's Note: Yeah, I really don't know where I'm going exactly with this story. I just really like writing it. I suppose I am taking things rather slow, of fast, depending on how you look at it, but I'd really like some reviews for ideas and suggestions. I don't want to stop writing it, but I also don't want to write in vain. Please review! It's greatly appreciated.


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